My Pregnancy

My pregnancy was not fun. In addition to the emotional distress I had provided myself because of worries about family, friends, ex-boyfriends, and society's expectations, I also had a number of simple medical complications which made it a necessity to visit at least one doctor on a weekly basis in order to ensure a healthy pregnancy.

I made it to my classes at the University of Minnesota every day. I did my homework while speaking to my baby's father over Skype. I woke up and went to sleep with the computer next to me and the video camera rolling. Every moment of my day was followed around by my laptop computer and the live image of my baby's father in the framed video projection. I felt that being able to see the man who made me pregnant and sharing my feelings would make pregnancy easier. This was not the case.

For goodness sakes, he spoke Spanish! My Spanish skills were constantly improving, but there was a point at which I could not use words to convey how I truly felt during such an emotional engagement, especially in a second language.

I graduated from the University in December of 2008. Thank goodness for that. After graduation, however, I found myself isolated with a stomach growing larger and larger with a new parasitic life. When I went in public, people asked me if I was in pain because I appeared so discontent.

I had applied for Travel Visas which would allow the baby's father to leave Venezuela and come to the US to be present for the birth, however the first one was denied because there was a second one pending. I cried. A lot.

More than just crying, I was wailing and could feel the walls around me shaking and bearing down on me as I laid on the floor in a puddle of water-weighted tears. It was January and I wished for death, but felt conflicted because the baby was due to be born in March. I could not take my life for her sake. There seemed to be no way to get the father of my child to the US to be present for the end of our sexual experience together (the end result of sex is reproduction).

The second Visa I had applied for was a Fiancee Visa which would allow the father to come to the US for three months, when we would get married or he'd be deported. Although I wasn't sure about the whole marriage and husband situation, I figured it was our best option. I wanted him to help with our baby and be a part of her life as soon as she was born. I wanted to make our little family work...and I was willing to sacrifice anything to make it work.

I thought I had made it clear that this Fiancee Visa was one of convenience, much like couples who wed for tax breaks and such things. I told him I would try to love him. If I put in the footwork and wore the hats, if I said "I love you" enough while filing the proper paperwork and fees, I would surely grow to love him. I could create a normal happy family.

The Visa process is not easy. "Hurry up and wait" is the best way to think about it. "Hurry up and wait a long, long time." Some countries have easy access to the US. A visa to visit or vacation is permitted automatically. Venezuela is not one of those countries.

My water broke in the middle of the night on February 16, 2009.

Hilarious side-note here: Apparently women get this "nesting" instinct when they are about to deliver where they want to clean and make things cute. That did not happen to me. I watched YouTube videos and called the mechanical dudes that I knew trying to figure out how to repair the dents of my car with Bond-O.

My parents took me to the hospital in the middle of a quiet blizzard. My stomach was not as big as other pregnant women I knew and the security guard apparently didn't realize that I was in labor. She refused to let me in the hospital gates, asking me,

"What is your name? Who are you here to see?"

I responded "Sarah, Please let me in."

She looked for my name in the computer. "I'm sorry ma'am," she said sternly. "There is nobody listed under that name in the hospital now."

Confused, I said, "...but I am here!"

"No ma'am, Sarah is not in the maternity ward."

"But I am here. I need to go into the hospital."

"Why do you need to go in there?" she asked with suspicion.

"Because I am having a baby." I said, half laughing at the irony.

"No ma'am, Sarah may have been here, but she ain't here anymore."

Shit. Really?

So that is how the birth of my daughter started. Eventually I got into the maternity ward, but the security officer almost called back-ups to get me out. It didn't get any better.